


Doubts

by daydreamsonacloudyday



Series: Isabel Cousland [25]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 04:26:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1731092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daydreamsonacloudyday/pseuds/daydreamsonacloudyday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair doubts his ability to be a father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doubts

It was that time of the day. Isabel’s handmaiden helped her waddle back to the royal bedchambers, leaving Alistair to finish up business with their advisors and councilors for the day. With help, she changed into the loose shift she wore to bed, ready to relax for the night. She made sure she used the chamber pot, because Maker knows she would have to go within minutes of getting comfortable. Once everything was taken care of, her handmaiden helped her into bed, propping up pillows until she was comfortable—as comfortable as she was going to get in such a state.

Her husband arrived shortly after, a grin on his face at the sight of her. 

"And how is my beautiful wife?" he asked cheerily, and she rolled her eyes at him. She was _huge_ , not beautiful, and she was only going to grow larger over the next couple of months. Maker help her.

"I’m tired," she muttered. "And my back hurts from carrying around this baby all day."

"I’m sorry, love," he replied coming over to kneel beside the bed. "Speaking of the little prince or princess… how are you?" He spoke directly to her belly, his hand softly moving over her baby bump. "Are you giving your mother a hard time?"

Isabel snorted, unable to suppress a smile at the sight before her. Alistair already loved their baby so much; he’d loved it fiercely since the day Wynne confirmed she was pregnant. He was constantly fawning over her, and he’d been talking to her belly since before there was even a bump. Sometimes she thought she loved it more than her.

He planted a kiss to her stomach and then to her forehead, before quickly changing out of his finery. He hopped into bed with her, propping his head up right near her belly. He grabbed the fabric of her shift, silently asking if he could move it away, and she nodded, a small smile on her lips. He grinned back and carefully lifted her shift until he exposed her baby bump, resting his free hand atop it, his thumb gently stroking her skin.

Alistair started telling the baby about their day, and how one day he or she would be stuck in meetings and holding court. It warmed Isabel’s heart to see him like this, a spark of excitement in his amber eyes as he spoke to their unborn child. She cherished every one of these moments, and couldn’t wait to see the look in his eyes the first time he held their child in his arms.

"I’m going to teach you to use a sword," Alistair declared. "And if you can’t learn that, then your mother will teach you how to use a bow." He met her gaze, his lips curled into a lopsided grin. "She can take out five men all by herself, without even having to loose an arrow."

Isabel snorted. “Five seems a little excessive.”

"Don’t listen to her," he said, focusing back on her belly, and she shook her head. The hand softly running over her skin stopped, Alistair’s brow furrowing. "What if I  _can’t_  teach him to use a sword?”

"Then I’ll teach him to shoot," she replied warily, noting how he suddenly tensed beside her.

"No, it’s not that." He shook his head, pulling his hand from her stomach. "What if… what if I can’t teach him to do  _anything_?” He sat up, wide eyes meeting hers, and she could see that he was terrified. “Maker, what if I’m a bad father?”

"Alistair, you will be a great father."

"I doubt that," he said with a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his head. "I don’t know what it’s like to  _have_  a father. How am I supposed to  _be_  one?”

"And you think that I know how to be a mother just because I had my parents growing up?" She reached for his hand, taking it and placing it back on her stomach, lacing their fingers together. "I spend my days worrying about how fat I’m going to get because of this baby. That’s not very motherly of me."

Alistair let out a short laugh. “You’re not fat.”

"Oh, Maker, you really are blinded by love." He shook his head and she gestured for him to lie back with her, and he did, their conjoined hands still resting on her round stomach. "I’ve seen you with children, you’re a natural," Isabel said, holding his gaze. She smiled softly at him, brushing the back of her fingers down his face. "You are such a good man. You’re strong, honorable, loyal, funny… and you have such a big heart. All of this is going to make you a fantastic father."

"You really mean that?" he whispered, hope in his eyes.

"Yes," she replied softly. 

"I’ve always wanted a family, you know that," he murmured. "This is going to be our only chance… I don’t want to make a mess of it."

"You won’t. And if you do, we’ll mess it up together." Isabel sighed, smiling wryly at him. "We killed an archdemon and stopped a Blight. One baby isn’t going to take us down."

Alistair chuckled. “You say that now. Just wait until the baby’s throwing up on you.” She grimaced, and he just laughed at her more. She smacked him and shoved his hand away from her. “Oh, come on, Izzy!”

"Don’t touch me," she muttered, shooting him a glare. He didn’t listen and leaned over her, pressing a tender kiss to her lips. 

"Thank you," he said quietly, quirking his lips up into that lopsided smile that made her heart melt. She tried to stay annoyed with him but he was making that very difficult with that smile and those puppy-dog eyes of his. "I love you." His eyes drifted down to her stomach. "Both of you"

"We love you, too," she grumbled, failing to hide a smile. "Now rub my feet."

"Yes, my queen," he said with a laugh. He went to scoot down to the foot of the bed, and she suddenly felt fluttering in her stomach. Isabel quickly grabbed his wrist and brought his hand to her belly. Alistair gasped when he felt the baby moving around, the biggest grin lighting up his face. "Maker, that will never get old," he breathed.

Alistair settled down beside her, pulling her into his arms as he pressed his chest to her back. He buried his face in the crook of her neck as he held her stomach, humming the lullaby that she’d taught him—the same one her mother used to sing when she was a little girl. Between her exhaustion, the comfort of his embrace, and the soothing sound of his voice, Isabel soon drifted off to sleep, happy and content.


End file.
